Shepherds in Their Field
by monicawoe
Summary: Written for spn-bigpretzel for the prompt: The boys (Sam around four, Dean around 8) go to the Christmas pageant at Pastor Jim's church and he explains the nativity to them. Dean is skeptical, Sammy is fascinated.


Dean remembered that Christmas used to be different. It was hard to remember why specifically, but he knew that when Mom had still been alive, Christmas was the best. He remembered a big tree, and cookies and piles of presents. He remembered being happy.

Now it was just him and Dad and Sammy. They moved around a lot, and the tree they got seemed smaller every year. Dad was sad all the time, and he didn't sing anymore.

It was December 20th, 1987, and they were heading to Minnesota. Sam slept for most of the drive, and only woke up when they got to Blue Earth. They were going to stay with Pastor Jim, while Dad left for a few days to take care of something. Dean knew it was dangerous, whatever it was. Usually Dad didn't tell him what he was going to hunt, but sometimes he would tell him afterwards— if Dean asked at the right time, or if he saw Dad making notes in his book.

Dean hated it when Dad left. He knew he had to — Dad had explained what it was that he did, and why it was important. But that didn't change the fact that he might not come back one of these times. Dad was tough, but Dean had heard enough to know that what he hunted was even tougher.

"I'll be back by Christmas Eve," Dad promised. He kissed Sam on the head and turned to give Dean a big hug. "Promise."

Pastor Jim was nice enough. He had a big box of crayons for Sam and a huge bin of Lego bricks for Dean to play with. Legos got boring quick though, and Dean wandered out of the back room they were in to look for a snack. They were in the rectory — a small house next to the church where Pastor Jim held his sermons.

Dean saw Jim on the way to the kitchen. He was sitting at a small desk with a Bible and a pad of paper. Dean looked around the room, trying to figure out where all the weapons were. Jim was a hunter too, like Dad.

The pastor looked up from his reading and turned to Dean. "Do you need something, Dean? Everything okay?"

"Yeah." Dean looked around again. "Where do you keep all your weapons?"

"Safely locked away," Jim said. "I don't hunt that much anymore." He gestured at the Bible. "This is my job now."

"How come you're a pastor?" Dean asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you still believe in…angels and God and stuff?"

"Of course I still believe."

"But how? I mean if you know what's out there—"

Jim tilted his head to the side. "Knowing what I know has strengthened my faith."

Dean wanted to ask him more, but Jim stood up, asking, "Are you and Sam hungry?"

"Yes, sir."

Pastor Jim laughed. "Then let's see what we can find for you."

They had ham and cheese sandwiches for lunch, and spent the afternoon exploring the rectory. That night, they had pepperoni pizza for dinner from someplace local. It was one of the best Dean had ever had and he went to sleep happy and full.

The next morning they found the ground covered in snow and ran outside right after breakfast. They built snowmen and a fort so big and sturdy Dad would have been proud.

In the afternoon, Pastor Jim made them hot cocoa and Sam fell asleep so early they had to carry him to bed.

The next day they found a hill nearby to go sledding. Sam almost toppled off the sled, but Dean grabbed him by the arms and steered them safely to the bottom of the hill.

Every time they got back to the Church and the Impala was nowhere to be seen, Dean's heart sunk a little more.

The morning of Christmas Eve, Dad still hadn't come back, and Dean's bad mood got worse. Even when Jim showed him the game system he'd hooked up to the TV, the best he could do was try to crack a smile. He must not have been very convincing.

He tried playing the game for a while anyway, but jumping on mushrooms and collecting coins just wasn't that much fun.

Sam noticed Dean was upset and started drawing pictures for him. Stick figures with giant heads and tiny bodies. He wasn't that good, but Dean knew he hadn't been that good at drawing when he'd been Sam's age either. At least the way Sam drew them, Dean was as tall as Dad.

That night they ate an early dinner. Chicken, fresh corn and mashed potatoes, all cooked by Jim. Dean thought it might have been the best meal he'd had all year.

"There's something really special happening at the church tonight. I think you boys should come," Jim told them, smiling.

Dean didn't really like churches. They smelled funny and they were cold. But Jim promised they'd like it.

The church was full of people. The back, where Pastor Jim usually preached, looked like a stage. There was a wooden shed in the center with straw covering the floor and two actual sheep. Sam pulled Dean up to the front to get a closer look at the sheep and started giggling when one of the sheep bleated at him. Sam tried to climb up onto the stage to pet the sheep, so Dean dragged him away and they went to sit down in the pews.

"This is a Nativity play," Pastor Jim said. "It tells the story of the night Jesus was born."

"With sheep?" Dean asked skeptically.

"With sheep, shepherds and angels." Jim smiled. "I have to go back to the pipe organ. You two enjoy the show, okay?"

For the next hour they watched the play. The first time Joseph said Mary's name, Sam whispered, "That's Mommy's name." Dean shushed him, and kept his eyes on the play even though he didn't really feel like watching it. Mary had a baby, and right after he was born, a bunch of children wearing little white angel-wings and halos gathered all around the stage and started singing. Sam's eyes were wide and he grinned the whole time.

Afterwards, on their way back to the rectory, Sam wouldn't stop talking. "Did you see the wise men's crowns, Dean? And the angels? Do angels really look like that? Do they sing?"

"No."

"Angels don't sing?" Sam asked, looking confused.

"No, they don't sing, because they're not real," Dean said, suddenly angry.

"Not real?" Sam pointed one small finger at the Church. "We just saw it. Angels watch us and they sing, too."

"No, they don't." Dean stomped off ahead, but turned around once to make sure Sam was okay. Pastor Jim had caught up with him, but Sam was crying.

Dean walked past the rectory to the parking lot and sat near the edge of the sidewalk, pulling his knees in towards him.

After a while, maybe ten minutes or so, Pastor Jim came up next to him, carrying a sleeping Sam.

"Sorry I made Sammy cry," Dean said. He was sorry, too. It wasn't Sam's fault that Dad still wasn't back and that Mom was gone for good.

Pastor Jim looked down at Dean. "I know you are." Tilting his head up towards the star-filled sky he said. "So you don't believe in angels?"

Dean shrugged. "Can't."

"Because of what happened to your mom?"

Dean nodded. "If there are angels, then why weren't they watching Sammy's room that night? Why did they let Mom die?" He wiped at his nose, which had started running.

Jim crouched down carefully and sat next to Dean. Sam was still snoring softly on his shoulder. "Bad things happen. But that doesn't mean there aren't any good things. Your mom died, but you and Sam and your dad — you're all okay, and you have each other."

Dean was quiet for a minute, trying not to cry. He hated crying. Finally he said, "Dad's not back. He said he'd be back for Christmas Eve, and he's still not back. I don't know if he's okay, I don't even know—"

Pastor Jim held up his hand, and turned to point at the large clock on the church's tower. "He's still got two hours left."

"But what if he—"

"I've known your dad a long time, son. If he can make it back on time, he will."

Dean kept his eyes on the road leading into the parking lot, looking for any sign of the big, black car. They sat in silence for a while, just listening to the rustling of the trees and Sam's soft breathing. Dean's eyes started to feel heavy and he tilted over, leaning against Jim.

* * *

Dean dreamt of a Christmas tree — a small one, with silver garland and presents underneath for him and Sam. He dreamt of Dad smiling, and opening the gift Dean had made for him weeks ago. He'd taught himself how to whittle and tried to make a small Impala, but after starting over three times, he settled for making a horseshoe instead which he knew was for good luck. Dad needed all he could get.

He woke up smelling leather and found his father smiling down at him.

"Hey kiddo."

"What time is it?"

Dad smiled. "Eleven fifty-five. Told you I'd make it."

Dean yawned and started to sit up, but Dad pushed him back down

into the bed. He didn't even remember going to bed. Turning his head to the right, he looked across the room and saw Sammy, deep asleep. He looked back up to Dad. "Did you get the monster?"

"Yeah. Yeah I did." Dad ruffled Dean's hair and stood up. "Get some sleep, I'll see you in the morning, okay? I have to go make sure Santa knows where we are."

"Dad…I know Santa's not—"

"Shh." Dad held his finger up to his lips and nodded over to Sam.

Dean nodded solemnly and closed his eyes. Even if he didn't believe anymore, Sam still did.

He dreamt of a Christmas tree with silver garland and presents piled underneath. Dad was sitting by the tree, waving Dean over, and Sam was giggling, opening one present after the other. There was a bow stuck to his hair.

When Dean woke up, he smelled pine needles.


End file.
